It's been a month since I've had liquor. My sweet one, why do you leave me? I don't want this pain anymore, Please let me escape it. I don't think I'll survive long My aid has now been ruptured and torn. I'm not free of you, I want your sweet return, Another lullaby to pass the time as if I'm young Please come back I can't do this anymore I miss you so much, please one more time for me Don't let me forget you My memories so entangled without you Where do you go now? One more sip please I beg of you Cheers for my success, aid for my pain Pretense when I smile, an end when it rains I want to die without you my love I will be no more
The rising automata, the perverse instability of identity, is autonomy just a sect of paranoia? Paranoia, the ultimate schizoanalysis, discredited as insanity, distanced from the noumena, present in all humans, holds onto a separation of the child with the adult, a potent disconnect between distance and closeness. An imposition on the real, paranoia is an adamant defender of truth, existing as a conspiracy theorist, segmented into a shadow, and disparate from the whole. Burning itself onto the psyche of rationality, and overtaking its identity, paranoia, the reflection of truth, rests on indiscriminate harm, and hatred of joy, a discernment of undisclosed identity, and a prominent voice in ideology. Autonomy rests its shoulders on the paranoia of control, the dominance of the object to the subject, the harm of losing the ability to venture, paranoia is a stark reminder of the instability of the child, but moreso the instability of the adult. Along the timeline of life, the grasp of the